64 Snapshots
by Purloined Letter
Summary: 64 times in the lives of the Bleach cast. Humor to drama, romance to friendship, action to quiet observation. Hopefully something to satisfy every reader's craving! Chapter 2: What's a Metaphor? "Ken-chan, what's a metaphor?"
1. Waiting Up

I have decided to tackle this challenge because I wondered what I could come up with that wasn't chapter-based! Credit to 64 Damn Prompts on LiveJournal.

**1. 2 a.m.**

**Story- "Waiting Up"  
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><p>Damn it, where <em>was<em> he?

Ishida Ryūken looked up at the clock on his fireplace's mantle with a mixture of anger and worry. Usually his son was back from his Hollow hunting rounds earlier than this. He frowned before taking another drag on his cigarette as the clock chimed to announce that it was now two in the morning. His eyes narrowed as he studied his front porch though the window from his position on the couch in his living room.

It was those shinigami that Uryū had gotten himself mixed up with, Ryūken just _knew _it. Then again, he had also already known in the back of his mind that Uryū would likely run off to help them in spite of Ryūken's instructions to not associate with the shinigami ever again as a condition of restoring Uryū's Quincy powers. Mostly, Ryūken recalled with no great fondness a certain irritating shinigami regularly stumbling through his apartment window or door at two or three in the morning years ago. Ryūken had lost his entire damage deposit within a week after very reluctantly allowing Kurosaki Isshin to sleep on his couch. Was it any wonder, between his headstrong son and his very reluctant time spent with that irritating shinigami, that his hair had gone silver at such a relatively young age?

If Uryū wanted to deal with cleaning up after them and working with them that was his business, Ryūken supposed, even if it was distasteful to him personally. He looked up at the clock again and saw that it was now five minutes past two before he took the final drag of his cigarette and crushed it into his ashtray alongside the others while wearing an irritated expression. How had he gotten himself into the habit of waiting up for his son? _Because you worry about him when he's out there risking his life, _came a tiny voice in his head that he wanted to squash but couldn't muster the heart to as he yawned. That was when he noticed the porch lights triggering and heard the soft rattling of the doorknob as the house key was inserted and the door unlocked. Ryūken could feel himself relax a little- he couldn't, and wouldn't, ever admit to himself that it was relief- when Uryū quickly and quietly closed the door behind him and re-locked it.

Uryū quickly headed straight upstairs with a wide yawn, not even glancing over to the living room though Ryūken knew Uryū could feel his father's reiatsu there. His son had never asked why Ryūken waited up on his Hollow hunting nights, and not even Ryūken felt fully sure of the answer. After being satisfied that Uryū wasn't in any need of immediate medical assistance, Ryūken got up from the couch, stretched slightly and headed up to bed.

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><p><em>He always waits up for me...<em>

Uryū shut his bedroom door and walked over to set his alarm with a yawn before quickly changing into pajamas and falling into his bed. Since he'd started hunting Hollows on his own at the age of thirteen, Uryū had had the distinct impression that his father had known about it from his first late night. His father had been quietly waiting for him to return in the living room the next night he'd chosen to go out, which of course told Uryū that his father had indeed known. He still remembered Ryūken's exact words before he'd gone upstairs to bed.

_Just don't get yourself killed, Uryū.  
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Of course, especially when he'd been younger and much less skilled, Uryū had come back with some wounds that needed help, and Ryūken had always quietly treated them without a word while giving his son an look that Uryū had never been able to place. Worry? Anger? Disgust? He yawned as he looked up at his ceiling, resigning himself to the fact that his father was a mostly shut book that had only revealed a page or two, and even then only with some protest. Uryū made a little face as he realized that that trait had rubbed off on him some, too.

_Uryū, you must understand that your father loves you very much and worries about you. He's just not sure how to express it...I'm afraid he's been like that since he was a child.  
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Sōken's words drifted into Uryū's mind as he drifted off to sleep. Those words, and Uryū's absolute faith in everything his grandfather had ever said, were the only reason that he kept speaking to Ryūken sometimes, especially after a particularly bad back and forth on Uryuu wanting to keep the Quincy tradition alive. To Uryū, it was also a way of keeping his grandfather's spirit alive as well. He'd caught hell for more than once for pointing out that for all of Ryūken's insistence on letting the Quincy way go by the wayside, didn't he still wear a tie covered in crosses, and wasn't his hospital covered all over in crosses? What about the secret training room at Ryūken's hospital as well? His father always responded to the queries with a glare that would freeze an iceberg and walking out of the room. But, Uryū had also noticed, Ryūken also hadn't ever denied keeping up with his own Quincy training, either. And there'd been the time Ryūken had bailed him out of being killed by two Hollows with a single arrow as well.

Sighing and deciding he'd never fully understand the man, Uryū closed his eyes and went to bed, trying to catch the few precious hours he had before he had to get up for school.


	2. What's a Metaphor?

Credit to 64 Damn Prompts on LiveJournal. Hope everyone is enjoying!

**Prompt 2. Metaphor  
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**Story- "What's a Metaphor?"  
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><p>"KEN-CHAN! KEN-CHAN! KEN-CHAN! OH KEN-CHANNNNNNNN! WAKE UPPPPPPP!"<p>

Zaraki Kenpachi let out a grunt of protest as he felt his tiny lieutenant jump up and down on his chest and stomach, the 11th Divison captain a living trampoline. He cracked an eye open and offered a groggy, sleepy half-opened eye to Kusajishi Yachiru, Kenpachi's voice sandpaper as he spoke. "You're up early." There were times he regretted letting her stay in the other single bedroom right across the hallway and keeping his door unlocked so his men could get him immediately in case of an emergency; this was one of those times.

"Because I have a _question _and had to wake you up so I could ask you Ken-chan!" Yachiru offered him a brilliant smile before she sat down on his chest, looking down at him.

_This is _way_ too early for this_ _crap. _It was either indulge his fukutaichō or have her continue to bounce on him though, and Kenpachi had a hangover dragon chomping all over and inside his head at the moment. Just the morning light coming through the windows caused him to squint and grimace as Kenpachi fully sat up in bed and turned to face her. He idly realized he'd passed out so hard and fast once he'd been back in his room at Eleventh that he hadn't even changed out of his Shihakushō. "Whadd'ya need Yachiru?"

She beamed with happiness after he asked the question, nodding and finally getting off of her rather large seat. She stood expectantly next to his bed before telling him why she'd disturbed him. "What's a..." Her face contorted and she looked up at the ceiling, clearly trying to recall something. She then seemed to remember it, her eyes wide in happy recall. "Oh yeah, I remember!" She then gave Kenpachi an inquisitive look. "What's a metaphor, Ken-chan?"

"Hhnnn." His throbbing brain seemed to refuse any cooperation, the taichō not even able to dredge up much of anything at all from the deep lake of his hangover-fogged memory. "I dunno. Where'd you hear it from, anyhow?"

"Oh! Well I was at Byakushi's fancy writing thing and they talked about books," Yachiru explained as she bounced up and down slightly with excitement and pent up energy. "Byakushi said he liked those metaphor thingies, so I wanna find one for him!" This seemed to remind her of something else, as she then dug around in her pocket and produced a small sweet cake that was quickly consumed,.

"I dunno what they are, Yachiru." Kenpachi sighed as he immediately wanted to find a way to erase the crushing disappointment from his lieutenant's face. "Aw now, don't look like that." Suddenly an idea came to him, a lighthouse brilliantly and suddenly piercing the darkness. "Hey, I know what we could do!"

"What is it, Ken-chan?" The sadness on Yachiru's face was quickly replaced by hope.

"Let's go ask who we always ask this kinda stuff to." Kenpachi quickly got up from sitting on his bed and straightened his robes. "He'll probably know if anyone in Eleventh does."

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><p>As he corrected the division's supply list for the third time that month, Ayasegawa Yumichika sighed as he finished the last of the corrections. How many times <em>was <em>he going to have to explain to the man in charge of supplies for the Eleventh that two minus two was zero, not that there were two supplies and two more had been added to the shelf with a dash made for notation? The narcissist shook his head as he shoved the papers away from him in irritation. Always getting suckered in to helping the rest of the division with things like math and writing reports came with the territory of being one of the only book-smart ones in the room, Yumichika supposed ruefully. The Fifth Seat let out a soft huff of amusement as he flicked his hair. _Time to go through the medical reports now, I guess._ He had almost wept the first time he'd read about 'seriuss hand kut's and backs 'hurtfuling'. Hurtfuling _wasn't ev_e_n a word_!

The common room was disgusting with the remains of the wild party they'd held last night, Yumichika resisting the impulse to pick up all the trash and empty liquor bottles around the room. He told them he wasn't cleaning up thier messes any more after last week, and he was going to stick to his word. He'd decided to stop after realizing that none of them ever cleaned up _anything_ in the room because they knew it would eventually drive Yumichika crazy enough to pick everything up.

"There you are!"

Yumichika felt his stomach fill with leaden butterflies as soon as he heard Yachiru's voice. Ninety-five percent of the time, when thier fukutaichō deliberately sought you out it didn't end up well. The fact that Kenpachi-taichō was with her boded even less well in his opinion, the pair a rain shower accompanied by thunder and lightning.

"Yachiru wants to know somethin'." Kenpachi pointed his thumb at Yachiru, who was perched on her usual spot on his back and shoulder. "I told 'er we should ask you about it."

"Oh? What's that?" Yumichika cocked an eyebrow, seriously hoping this wasn't leading where it felt like it was leading. He was absolutely, positively _not _going to give his fukutaichō The Talk.

"Umm, what's a..." Yachiru paused, wrestling with the word - "metaphor?"

Yumichika felt a wave of relief crash through him full force before nodding. "Ah. I can help with that, certainly." He turned his full attention to Yachiru. "Well, have you ever heard a simile? As in, that flower is as yellow as the sun?"

"Yeah!" Yachiru chirped brightly. "I see that in books a lot."

"Exactly." Yumichika offered her a small smile. "Well, a metaphor is just like that, except you don't use 'like' or 'as'. For instance, the wheat was a moving white ocean."

"OH!" She smiled and nodded before looking a little disappointed. "So it's not something I can catch for Byakushi..."


End file.
